


sick

by kototyph



Series: sleepy wincest ficlets [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Ficlet, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Schmoop, Season/Series 08, Sick Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-18
Updated: 2013-03-18
Packaged: 2017-12-05 17:44:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/726064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kototyph/pseuds/kototyph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"'M not <em>sick</em>," Dean insists, shivering, the comforter tucked up around his chin and his cheeks stained a blotchy red under his freckles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sick

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Sick 病了](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1456138) by [alucard1771](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alucard1771/pseuds/alucard1771)
  * Translation into Русский available: [Простуда](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5735461) by [avadakedavra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avadakedavra/pseuds/avadakedavra), [Wincent_Cester](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wincent_Cester/pseuds/Wincent_Cester)



> [imagineyourotp](http://imagineyourotp.tumblr.com/post/44064153072/imagine-person-a-getting-a-fever-and-body-aches):
>
>> Imagine person A getting a fever and body aches, making going to sleep difficult. So person B massages A and kisses their temples and forehead several times to make A relax and fall asleep. The next morning, person A feels a lot better.

"'M not _sick,_ " Dean insists, shivering, the comforter tucked up around his chin and his cheeks stained a blotchy red under his freckles.

"Of course not," Sam agrees, ignoring Dean's feeble attempts to wiggle free of the blankets as he pokes around in their med kit for the thermometer. "Healthy as a horse, obviously."

"Damn straight," Dean mutters, curling in on himself a little more. "Just… tired."

"Right."

"Gonna get up in a second."

"Mmkay."

"N' kick your ass."

"You do that."

" _Sam_ ," Dean whines, and Sam sighs and lays a hand over his burning forehead.

Dean's eyes flutter shut. "Mmm. Hands're cold."

"Or you're, you know, _sick,_ " Sam counters, continuing his search through the bandages and surgical tape one-handed.

"Not," Dean says, sulkily.

Sam sighs, lets his fingers run through the sweaty hair at Dean's temple. "Do me a favor a just stay in bed for a second? I think we lost our thermometer."

"Ngh."

"Okay, then."

A search of the library's storeroom uncovers a large chest full of midcentury medical equipment, and Sam find quite a few instruments meant to gauge temperature— some decidedly _not_ via the mouth. Twirling a long metal rod in his fingers, he debates bringing one of them into the room— but decides he doesn't need Dean having a stroke on top of the flu.

His brother, predictably, is on the floor when Sam comes back, shaking uncontrollably, arms wrapped around himself and eyes glassy when they slit open to stare up at Sam.

"No, not sick at all," Sam says, deadpan. "You'll be on your feet in no time."

"Shut the fuck up, bitch," Dean chatters out, "and help me."

Sam sets the thermometer on the bedside table and hauls him upright, then shucks his shoes and climbs into bed with him. He props himself upright with the mound of pillows that have been mysteriously gravitating to Dean's bed over the course of the last few weeks and settles Dean across his lap, arm around his waist, his legs over Sam's, and his head tucked just under Sam's chin.

Dean has a whole host of uncomplimentary things to say about the position, but he's murmuring them into Sam's clavicle while he burrows in closer, practically purring when Sam's hand comes up to rub at the base of his skull, and Sam feels he can safely ignore the commentary.

"— girly as shit," Dean sighs. "Told Dad I wanted a baby _brother."_

Dean's baby sister rolls his eyes and reaches for the thermometer on the table, fingers finding metal as he pulls Dean's furnace-hot body in closer and gropes for the edge of the comforter to pull it back up.

"Open up."

"F'k off," Dean grumbles.

Sam sticks the thermometer in while he's talking and endures the outraged, muffled squawk and weak punch Dean aims at his stomach. It's old-fashioned and mercury-based, so it's several minutes before Sam lets Dean spit it out and lifts it up to read it.

"Approximately 103," Sam decides. "Almost 104. Jesus. Maybe we should take you to the hospital."

"Nnn-mm."

"You don't care if your brain cooks?"

"Nmph."

Sam strokes a thumb just behind Dean's ear and leans in to kiss his forehead. "Well, I care. If it doesn't go down in a couple hours, we're heading for the nearest ER."

"Worry-wort," Dean accuses, voice gone soft and indistinct as he starts to drift off.

Sam relaxes back against the pillows and closes his eyes. "I've got more reason than most, don't you think?"

"Sh'up. Tired."

"'kay."

"Not sick."

Sam wants to groan, finds himself laughing instead. "For fuck's sake. Go to sleep."

"F'king _trying_ , _"_ Dean mutters, and passes out before his next breath, body losing that last bit of tension as he goes loose-limbed and pliant in Sam's arms.

"Finally," Sam breathes, and follows shortly after.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been [translated into Chinese](http://alucard1771.livejournal.com/14442.html)! Thanks, [alucard1771](http://archiveofourown.org/users/alucard1771)!
> 
> I need more fandom friends! Find me on [tumblr](http://kototyph.tumblr.com/) and [livejournal](http://kototyph.livejournal.com/).


End file.
